The Last Message
by pikachu203
Summary: He was gone now and all he had left me with was a message I couldn't bear to hear. Warning: Character death


**The Last Message**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p><em>"<em>_It occurred to me that anyway one more Sunday was over, that Maman was buried now, that I was going back to work, and that, really, nothing had changed." – The Stranger, Albert Camus_

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><p>He died today. Perhaps it was yesterday… I don't see him as often nowadays, so I wouldn't know. I didn't know this morning. It was an unfortunate discovery I made while sifting through the files which had been unceremoniously plopped onto my desk.<p>

It wasn't true. Surely, there must have been some mistake. I couldn't know for sure, not without evidence. I was convinced he was still alive, so why were my hands shaking as I searched through the file? There was the autopsy report, and a picture, but it didn't seem real.

Maybe this was all another nightmare. If I had the willpower I could break free of sleep's dark cage…

But I couldn't. The shaking was worse now; my blood was frigid in my veins, and I felt a dull ache in my chest. I was suddenly struck by a wave of exhaustion as if the world about me was slowly closing in, turning my thoughts into nonsensical gobbledygook and slowly closing off my air supply. My breathing was quick and shallow, and my behavior had fallen out of my control.

I screamed, though I couldn't force my mouth to form the thoughts rushing through my head.

_It's not true, it's not true, it's not true, it can't be true, this is a dream, I'm dreaming - I must be - please it's not true, it's not true, don't let it be true!_

It took a great period of time and deep breathing to finally regain my composure. My hands still shook as I closed the file, not wanting to see that horrid picture again.

The image was etched into my psyche. His dull eyes were blankly gazing at the empty sky above him and that that horrid pool of crimson bubbled into the hideous brown mud. Worst of all… He was smiling, smiling that same damn smile he always did.

_Confidence,_ he'd always said... That stupid look meant confidence. _Why?_ Why would he _smile_? Maybe it was an illusion - my mind playing tricks on me - but I couldn't bring myself to open that file again to affirm my suspicions.

I don't know what made me check my phone. It was a distraction from this world where nothing made sense, a world where the absurd reigned supreme. I saw something that nearly made me retch. A message popped on the screen, informing me I had one missed call and one voice-mail message. The time he'd left them was minutes before the estimated time of his death.

Reality smacked me. He was gone. I felt the wet sensation of tears streaming down my cheeks and did nothing the deluge. I sobbed softly. He was gone and it was my fault. He had called me and I hadn't picked up my phone. He was dead... I could have stopped it... I should have saved him...

Someone finally came to see what the commotion was about. They placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, asking me a question. I couldn't hear them. They stood up, presumably trying to find what had broken me. They found it. I heard the gasp, and they returned to me, hugging me and mumbling meaningless comforts. I was barely aware of their presence.

I realized nothing truly mattered. No matter what he had done, whom he had helped, and what he had been, the world still opened itself up and - with its general indifference –had ended his existence in one instant. He was a memory now, doomed to fade away. Eventually everyone who knew him would die and no one would utter his name again. His life was a tiny spot in the history of the universe. The world would continue to spin interminably. I would have to return to work. There I would find more files and more murdered, forgotten souls. Each one of them had a story, a life, and an essence, just as he had. Yet... Here I sat organizing them into files, words, descriptions, motivations, and mementos which I would never truly understand. They were all humans, even the most heinous of them and in the eyes of the final judgement of death, earthly actions did not matter. It would always end the same. He was just another victim, a name, a numbered folder on my wall now.

I resolved to never listen to his final message.

In the end, it meant nothing.

Nothing had changed.


End file.
